


Forget It

by KaibaSlaveGirl34



Series: Prompt Fics [9]
Category: The Craft (1996)
Genre: Abuse, Community: comment_fic, Familial Abuse, Ficlet, Gen, Mother-Daughter Relationship, One Word Prompt Meme, Prompt Fic, Wordcount: 100-2.000
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-09-27
Updated: 2011-09-27
Packaged: 2017-10-24 02:19:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 524
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/257807
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KaibaSlaveGirl34/pseuds/KaibaSlaveGirl34
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Oneshot. Nancy’s thoughts about her family.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Forget It

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Harry2](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Harry2/gifts).



> Hey there! Here’s a new oneshot I cooked up after watching parts of the 1996 film “The Craft”, which I think is an awesome film to watch, and be inspired by as well. :)
> 
> This oneshot, entitled “Forget It”, centers on the character Nancy Downs (played very brilliantly by actress Fairuza Balk, who once said in the original featurette for “The Craft” on the Special Edition DVD that her character is an “addictive person” that “sees witchcraft as an addiction”), and her thoughts on her family.
> 
> Disclaimer: The geniuses at Columbia Pictures own The Craft. I own the oneshots, songfics, stories and poems I cook up from time to time.

Forget It

_I am the son and the heir_  
_Of a shyness that is criminally vulgar_  
_I’m the son and heir_  
_Of nothing in particular_

_You shut your mouth, how can you say_  
_I go about things the wrong way_  
_I am human and I need to be loved_  
_Just like everybody else does_  
~Love Spit Love, **How Soon Is Now**

_I don’t want to be white trash anymore. I don’t want to be seen as the girl that jerk Chris Hooker laid and dumped — ever again! I don’t want to be poor. I don’t want my stepfather in my life again, either._

Wearing an Asian silk bathrobe, Nancy Downs was sitting on her bed, her dark eyes holding nothing but contempt — contempt for everything in her life.

Her mother, she knew, was an alcoholic. All too often Nancy had seen her mother stumble around inside the trailer, drunk. She could smell the whiskey on her mother’s breath, and she disliked her for it as well.

Her stepfather, Ray, was a different story altogether. Nancy disliked him with a passion as well — a hot, burning passion, to be exact. Once, she thought there was nobody like Ray — lecherous, evil and a bastard to boot.

This time, she knew she was right about that.

_“I gave you money. You told me you paid the bill. You can’t pay a bill? What are you good for?”_

_“You know what I’m good for.”_

Great. After that kind of speech, the last thing she wanted to hear was them having intercourse. It was disgusting, in her point of view. She didn’t like it, not one bit.

 _Mommie Dearest and Stepdaddy Dearest,_ she thought wryly. _Sort of makes a so-called ‛perfect’ idea for what I’d call ‛My So-Called Trailer Trash Life’._

Nancy shook her head to rid herself of almost every one of those thoughts. The ‛My So-Called Trailer Trash Life’, however, sounded quite oddly a good description for her home life, anyway.

_If only I can invoke the spirit of Manon... then everything would change for me, and in a good way, I mean. Things would be different. I would be OK, for one thing. I would be rich, and live in a palace of some sort, and all of these problems of mine would be over. I wouldn’t have to wake up in the middle of the night from feeling that bastard’s hands all over my skin... his fingers crawling over my flesh like bugs and making it tingle all over..._

Again Nancy shook her head as though to rid herself of all those thoughts, now different. She shuddered all over at the images the thoughts had conjured up in a spell-like fashion. Her hands clenched into fists, and she was barely able to keep the anger deep down inside her.

She disliked — no, hated — them with a passion. Her mother, her stepfather. They would all feel her rage, her anger. They would feel the exact same way she had all too often felt when she would suffer abuse.

Now, she felt, was the time when she would show them she wasn’t to be pushed around anymore...

**Author's Note:**

> Nice feedback is, as usual, very much appreciated, of course. :)


End file.
